


Nicotine

by prinsessa_mouse



Series: Living in Uggr [6]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Dethklok, Protective Nathan, Punching Lessons, Running Away, Smoking, Talking, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prinsessa_mouse/pseuds/prinsessa_mouse
Summary: Skwisgaar and Nathan have a heart to heart while they smoke.
Relationships: Magnus Hammersmith/Skwisgaar Skwigelf, Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer
Series: Living in Uggr [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021879
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Nicotine

Nathan made it abundantly clear when they moved to Tampa, they were moving for the band not any other reason.

Almost daily he told Pickles moving benefitted them. The move had nothing to do with the Hammersmiths’ and their affairs. _Dethklok or death_ he grunted at his boyfriend who shrugged him off. Nothing phased the little redhead, he continued to involve himself in matters that didn’t concern them. Nathan lived a simple life – beer, boyfriend, band. If those three necessities were there, he was a big teddy bear with lots of love to give. He disliked conflict at the best of times and Pickles invited it in without a second thought. He asked one night if they moved because of the band or Skwisgaar. His boyfriend glowered at him for making such an insinuation.

They left for Tampa because the band generated some interest. They made a small demo a few weeks back of four songs and distributed it in the local scenes. Bloomingdale didn’t have anything left to offer them and commuting every practice got exhausting. The metal scene in the next town over awarded them a booking at the Depths of Humanity. They auditioned bass players again when they arrived, William Murderface fit their sound and Skwisgaar sited a lot of bands that his friend played in.

Dethklok started as a jam session between the couples. They hung out monthly to play and catch up. Nathan and Pickles wrote a lot of music together, hearing Magnus and Skwisgaar had a home studio set this dream into motion. It took them a year for the band to become something serious instead of playing covers for fun. At that time, the Hammersmiths’ got married. Skwisgaar toured a lot with his other bands, Magnus went off the wagon. Pickles laid beside Nathan at night telling him about the past and the risk associating themselves with the older man might have. They ignored the controlling demands coming from Magnus, Pickles rolled his green eyes and looked to Nathan many times to stand up to the guy. They became ignorant and dismissive to his moods, his contributions to the band refined the sound. His driving force inspired them all to come to practices with material to share and music to create.

Since then, Nathan carried a lot of opinions about his bandmates.

He despised Magnus, he found him to be repulsive and manipulative. He tolerated William’s unkept way of living even if he resembled a stink bug, the guy’s unique talents for the bass made him perfect for their ragtag family of misfits. He loved Pickles to death both musically as well as his boyfriend, his big heart and humbleness made him a great role model. That left Skwisgaar, an overly caffeinated perfectionist who fussed about every little thing. The longer they spent around the youngster, they noticed his cocky persona was a front to hide a deeper issue. The world weighed heavy on the Swede’s shoulders, he crumbled under the pressure of satisfying others while remaining on the God of Guitar pedestal.

Pickles picked up on the silent screams for help first. He worried all the time that Skwisgaar was one push away from a suicide attempt. In the four years of knowing him, he changed a lot. Some of it chalked up to maturity while the rest pointed to his relationship problems. Pickles spent a lot of time talking to him on the phone, he offered him a place to stay if he needed a break, their conversations were private, _its okay to say you need our help_ , the redhead whispered many times.

Nathan tried to avoid the conflict. In his mind, Skwisgaar chose Magnus. Why didn’t he just leave and move in with William? His lizard brain couldn’t comprehend why someone as talented and kind as the blonde tolerated the abuse. He continued to think like that until he saw his friend’s bloodshot eyes at a band practice. Another time he witnessed Magnus reaming Skwisgaar out in the parking lot of their apartment building, the blonde obediently got into the car where the fight continued without an audience. Nathan started to go out onto the balcony to smoke when the blonde did, he injected himself into his space at practices to protect him. He left the phone calls to Pickles, he played bodyguard when the band got together.

Skwisgaar never ran away before.

They weren’t expecting a knock at the door a little after 10:30 pm the night before. The younger man leaned against the doorframe with a ratty black backpack slung over his shoulder. Pickles ushered him inside, he stepped out onto the balcony to scan the parking lot for the familiar car before he slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolt. Nathan closed the copy of The Demonology of King James I to take in the sight of something far worse than the history of witchcraft. Skwisgaar broke down, he couldn’t tell them what was wrong the only thing they understood was _mamma_.

Pickles pointed to the phone. He shot Nathan a panicked expression when the blonde grabbed the phone and called his mom.

The big guy noticed how shaken Skwisgaar was and insisted he sit down. That allowed Pickles to get the phone away from him momentarily. They needed to get a handle on the situation, the blonde’s hyperventilating incoherent mash of language made it impossible to decipher what he said.

With tact, the redhead reassured the mom her son was in the presence of friends and they would have him phone her when he calmed down. The subtle _I love yous_ exchanged seemed to help a bit.

The next morning, the sound of a dial tone screamed through the apartment. Pickles crawled into bed after sunrise to demand some much-needed cuddling after the long night he endured. Nathan praised him for being such a caring friend, he admired his selflessness and loved him for it. He got tempted to look in on Skwisgaar in the spare room but decided to leave him alone.

They all surfaced around noon.

No one talked about the night before.

Nathan wandered out onto the balcony mid afternoon to smoke. Pickles told him to check on Skwisgaar, who snuck out there an hour ago. He found his friend dangling his thin legs through the spindles of the second-floor guardrail. He stared off into the distance, the full ashtray and a cup of unfinished coffee sat next to him. He swam in the borrowed t-shirt he got from Nathan; Pickles’ clothes were crop tops on his long torso.

He looked peaceful sitting in the brisk afternoon sun with his blonde hair glowing like a golden halo.

Nathan caught a rare glimpse of his true form at ease, defenses dropped for a few minutes to enjoy the simplest of pleasures. The night before he couldn’t be consoled once the phone started ringing. Pickles slept beside Skwisgaar because it soothed his cries and nervous ramblings about going back home. They convinced him to stay the night, it was late, and he looked tired. They planned to say anything to keep him there.

Skwisgaar looked over his shoulder and gave him a small nod. He turned his gaze back to the parking lot below. His blue eyes studying every black car that drove past, he waited for Magnus to show up and force him to go back home. He shuddered at the thought, he’d be punished for running.

“Ah are you cold? I can get your hoodie,” Nathan offered. He already got a lecture from Pickles about taking care of their friend.

The younger man took a drag off his cigarette before snubbing it out into the overly full ashtray. “I’m fine,” he said coolly.

“Can I sit with you?”

“Pff, ja it ams your place,” Skwisgaar replied. He picked up his lukewarm coffee to occupy his hands. He slipped his wedding ring off when Pickles said his fingers looked swollen. He didn’t understand what he meant by the comment, he practised eight hours the days before. The ring calmed his nerves, he twisted it around his finger, counting rotations until his breathing evened out or the pain subsided.

Nathan sat down on the step and lit his cigarette. He didn’t see all the small red marks littering the blonde’s arms the night before. He saw the yellow bruises on his ribs and the newest purple bruise on his face. He took a breather on the balcony when he saw the cigarette burn on Skwisgaar’s shoulder. In the daylight the marks were noticeable on his pale skin, they looked sore. “What are those?” Nathan asked. He went to point out the marks causing Skwisgaar to put his coffee down, he tried his best to yank the oversized sleeve over his arm defensively.

“Hurt marks.”

“They look like they hurt,” Nathan trailed off. He reminded himself to look not touch. “How were they made?”

Skwisgaar gnawed on his lip. Magnus got annoyed when he didn’t listen. He deserved the hurt marks. If he followed the rules he wouldn’t be punished. “He grabs my arms,” he confessed.

“Show me,” Nathan demanded offering his left arm to his friend.

The Swede hesitated. He didn’t like hurting people. He sometimes kicked his husband when he passed out and the guilt ate him alive for doing such a cruel thing. His friend asking him to inflict an injury upon him caused a bout nauseous.

“You won’t hurt me, I’m a tough guy. I ah just want to know what is going on. Your arms are a mess.”

Skwisgaar gingerly cradled Nathan’s tan arm close to his body. The short nails on his thumb and index finger bit into the flesh first before he twisted the skin in his grasp. Nathan yelped and yanked his arm back. The blonde braced himself for the slap that never came.

“Fuck,” Nathan groaned. “He does that to you?”

“Ja.”

The big guy’s green eyes scanned over all the pinches on Skwisgaar’s arms. It hurt worse than being bit by a wasp. “Why does he pinch you?” he asked rubbing the sore spot on his arm.

“As punishments for being bads. I don’t listens.”

“He shouldn’t do that. How can he see anything you do as bad?”

Skwisgaar shrugged.

Nathan took a long drag off his cigarette. The cloud of smoke furled from his nostrils in an irritated huff. He struggled to find something to say. Pickles dealt with conversations better than he did, he interrogated Skwisgaar for answers.

“Sometimes, he ams so good to me,” Skwisgaar shared. There were many occasions that Magnus showed his romantic side. The moments were limited but he treasured them. He carried around photos of them in his wallet. When he got up in the morning, he pulled a somewhat blurry photo of them cuddling on the couch from his wallet to look at. The memory of that day meant the world to Skwisgaar, that was the day he got his green card in the mail. Magnus held the camera over top of them as they wasted a roll of film on the celebration. Most of the photos were them kissing or laughing – Magnus tickled Skwisgaar’s side because he loved his laugh. He’d give anything to go back to those days instead of the hell they were trapped in.

“Anytime you need to get away you can stay with us.”

Pickles told him the same thing.

Skwisgaar didn’t plan to overstay his welcome. He regretted running away and putting his friends in an awkward position.

He almost won the fight; he held the baggie of heroin tightly in his hand as Magnus tried to wrestle it from his grasp. Fists and slaps rained down upon him, Skwisgaar in a split second managed to roll onto his stomach and wedge the hand clasping the drugs under his body. His husband pulled his hair, he punched him in the ribs and back, he pinched the exposed skin on his pale arms all the while screaming about what a disobedient prick he was. Magnus rejected to be bested. He knew how to get the younger man to cooperate even if it scarred him afterwards. He sat his full weight down on Skwisgaar’s back and pulled out his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans. He bounced on his husband’s back like a trampoline while he popped a cigarette in between his scowling lips. He flicked his Zippo open and closed, he yanked at Skwisgaar’s hair one more time to see if he would surrender only to be disappointed by his stubbornness. On the next flick open, he lit the cigarette and took in a long inhale, leaning down he blew it into the younger man’s face. He sputtered under the weight and cloud of smoke but didn’t forfeit the drugs. Magnus sighed sadly. He didn’t give any warning when he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and pressed the burning hot end against Skwisgaar’s bare shoulder. He flailed under the assault and screamed out his truce. The cigarette got lifted from his shoulder, Magnus got up and sat on the couch to wait for his husband to get himself rolled over. The blonde sat up with tears, snot, and spit all over his face, his trembling hand dropped the baggie onto the coffee table. He crawled out of the living room like a kicked dog into the bedroom where he found a hoodie and stuffed a few essential things into his backpack. He patiently watched from the hallway as Magnus got too high to notice him sneaking out. He wiggled his feet into the first pair of shoes he saw in the landing and he ran. It became a blur; he didn’t know where he was until he found himself outside of Pickles’ apartment. They didn’t live to far away from him, his leg muscles were pushed beyond their limit for exercise, the only thing going through his head was to put a distance between himself and home.

Nathan recognized the thousand-yard stare. Pickles got that look sometimes when he reminisced about his teenaged years. Skwisgaar’s whole body tensed up, what he thought about terrified him. The longer he stared at the blonde, he realized he might be able to help. “Skwisgaar, do you know how to throw a punch?” he asked curiously.

Skwisgaar hesitated. He didn’t get into fights growing up, the few kids who played with him accepted him until his mom slept with their fathers then they ditched him. The older boys poked fun at his mom being a slut and the occasional name calling or ‘ _faggot_ ’ slung his way in the halls. Teasing aside, no one every fought with him. Blending into the crowd worked for him until people discovered how talented he was at the guitar. Nathan didn’t know about his past growing up without a father, his grandfather told him words were stronger than fists and fighting had no place at his table. His exposure to violence was Magnus, the first time he hurt another human came when he kicked his unconscious husband. To answers Nathan’s question, “Nej.”

“It’s really simple can you make a fist?”

The blonde sat back a bit and made a fist. He held it up to show the bigger man.

Nathan tutted when he saw the fist Skwisgaar made. “Can I touch your hand?” he asked. _Look don’t touch_ he reminded himself. Respectful boundaries proved he wasn’t a threat.

“Ja, it ams okay,” Skwisgaar mumbled.

The bigger man snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and shuffled closer. The younger man offered him his fist which upon inspection showed that his improper technique would surely result in an injury if he didn’t correct him. His skin was a combination of soft and callouses, his hand relaxed enough to allow Nathan the ability to shape his hand. “Never tuck your thumb,” he said tapping his friend’s finger. “If you punch with your thumb tucked inside your fist, you’ll break it.”

“Sorries,” Skwisgaar replied. He untucked his thumb from under his index and middle fingers to reform his fist. He took Nathan’s hint to rest his thumb on top of his fingers instead.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m teaching you this because it might help you.”

Skwisgaar admired the fist. He imagined using it, he wondered what it felt like to be the one throwing the punches. How powerful did Magnus feel when he punched him?

Nathan ran his fingers along his friend’s knuckles, “To get him away from you, punch hard and low. Stomach, sides, nuts. When he raises his hand to strike you, you hit him where he’s left his body unprotected. You’re going to throw the punch because you need to get him away from you. That’s when you run for the safest place in your house. Where is that?”

“Guests bedroom.”

“You protect yourself. Don’t choose to be a brave man throwing as many punches as you can, hit him to get him away from you. Find a safe place and call for help. Call us or William.”

Like everything Skwisgaar did, he practiced. He uncurled his fist to reform it until it seemed natural. His brain associated the muscle memory. He heard Nathan’s advice playing on repeat in his head. _Never tuck your thumb inside your fist, you’ll break it. Punch hard and low. Hit him where he’s unprotected. Stomach, side, nuts. Protect yourself. Find a safe place and call for help._

Nathan thought he saw a hint of confidence return to Skwisgaar after the small lesson about self defense. He almost offered to let the blonde threw a few practice punches to his arm then reconsidered. The pinch hurt, he bet the younger man could pack a punch if intimidated. Pickles would surely give him an earful for badgering Skwisgaar after a traumatic night.

“Thanks you, Nathans.”

“You’re welcome,” Nathan said.

The conversation died off. Neither of them knew what to say until Pickles joined them on the balcony where a competition of who could blow smoke rings started.

Skwisgaar smoked through the last half of his cigarettes as his thoughts drifted. In his head he heard multiple guitar riffs that he needed to write down. The fingers on his left hand tapped the rhythm on the metal spindle of the guardrail. Pickles and Nathan casually chatted next to him about the band and their first big gig. Their company soothed him; they didn’t act more concerned than they had too. They were his friends; he knew they cared about him.

“Here dude,” Pickles said pleasantly as he handed him his package of cigarettes.

The smoke flooded his lungs, suffocating the demons and anxiety that choked him. Beside him Pickles giggled over Nathan pretending to be a dragon blowing fire from his mouth.

“Pickles, look I’m a dragon!”

Skwisgaar choked on the smoke he inhaled laughing when the impression happened again. For the first time in four years, he relaxed.

**Author's Note:**

> Since Nathan is a man of few words...I would assume he would be a man of words when it came to worrying about his friends and how to throw a punch. There wouldn't be any awkwardness about him as he listened then taught his friend.  
> It gets a little dark, but Nathan is there to balance it out. Next chapter is going to be happier? I mean as happy as being sick can be :P  
> Happy readings - L <3


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